Content Advisory: Graphic depictions of violence, psychological trauma, and unhealthy coping mechanisms that may be triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised. ⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit on the sofa, the room spinning around me, the crystal glass clutched in my hand, the rich amber liquid sloshing against the sides as I bring it to my lips. The alcohol burns as it slides down my throat, but it’s a welcome pain, a distraction from the all-consuming torment that threatens to tear me apart. They’re gone. My parents…they’re really gone. The thought is a relentless hammer, pounding against the inside of my skull. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. The box, the blood, the heads… I see their faces—my mother’s once warm, loving eyes now blank and lifeless; my father’s strong, proud features twisted in agony. It plays over and over in my mind, a sickening loop that I can’t escape, a nightmare made flesh. A

As I make my way through the hallways of the mansion, I can’t help but dwell on how much has changed. The once lively and vibrant walls of our home now feel somber and heavy, weighed down by the grief and anger that permeate every corner.It’s been three weeks since the brutal murder of Guillermo and Valentina. Three weeks of watching the man I love grapple with a pain and rage so profound, it’s slowly but surely consuming him. Just last week, Marcel decided it would be best to keep the family together until Luciano has been dealt with. Now, our home is a full house, with Santiago, Alessandra, Levi, his girlfriend Eboni, and their one-year-old daughter Isabelle all under our roof.Just one big happy family…I pause outside the media room, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear the soft murmur of voices from within, playing from the TV. Gently, I push it open, stepping into the dimly lit space.Alessandra

I storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me, my heart pounding in my chest and hot tears stinging my eyes. I pace the room, trying to calm the rage and humiliation boiling inside me.It’s not true. You know it’s not true.…Then why does it bother me so much..?Deep down, I know the answer. Alessandra struck a nerve, echoing the doubts and insecurities I’ve been battling with for months. The fear that I’m not strong enough, not tough enough to survive this world. The nagging feeling that I don’t belong here, that I’m a liability to Marcel and his family.Maybe she’s right.In the next moment, the door opens, and Marcel strides in, his expression hard and unreadable. “What the hell was that, Mercy?” he asks, his voice low and controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of anger.I scoff, turning to face him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. “She started it,” I spit, my voice trembl